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“I feel my bargain is more than generous,” Xel said when the silence lingered too long. “What shall it be, Aldor?”
With every fiber of his being, Aldor wanted to break his curse. To regain what his mother had traded away for her own selfish desires. When that day came, he would finally be free. He would be whole.
Aldor replied with a deep scowl. They both knew he would do all that Xel’voth asked and more if it meant finding the Star.
“Good,” Xel purred. The dark creature turned back to his shadowy prison and said over his shoulder, “Until you return.”
The creature is your salvation.
Gwendolyn Moore was much more than his salvation he thought as he left the Hall. She was his very soul. Xel'voth had been right. To be reunited with his soul, there was no price Aldor would not pay.
Chapter Twelve
Gwen’s wary expression reflected back at her as she looked into the polished surface of the ornate silver standing mirror. “So how does it work?” she asked nervously.
“They’re old magick, and very rare,” Levian replied. The mage brushed her fingers delicately over the edge of the silver frame. “It took me ages to get my hands on one.”
“They’re cursed,” Barith declared from the other side of the library, where he was leaning back against a long table stacked with books, his tail flopped over the edge.
Cursed? Well, that made her feel loads better.
The mage glared at the dragon. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked flatly.
Barith smirked. “No.”
Levian rolled her eyes and went back to gathering her things. “A secret order of fae scholars created them,” she explained to Gwen. “The fae kingdoms have often been at odds with one another. It’s said that these scholars forged the mirrors to visit in secret and share their research undetected. It’s nearly impossible to use transport magick to get through well-woven barriers—like the one I created here. Barith’s stepping stone only worked to transport you here because this is his home and he is tied to it. Magick mirrors cut through all of that.”
Gwen cautiously backed away from the mirror. “Does that mean anyone else who has one can just walk through it?” she stammered.
“Don’t worry, darling,” Levian told her with a soft, assuaging smile. “The magick isn’t that simple. They’re forged from fae silver and the sands of an ancient enchanted pool. In order to open the portal between mirrors, I must open mine, and Abigail must open hers. Only then is the link created.”
Gwen relaxed a little—but only a little. She errantly glanced at Sirus, who was hovering by the fire. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and she looked sharply back at the mirror, trying to hide the blush spreading over her cheeks. They’d hardly spoken since the night he’d brought her to London. Everyone was surprised by how quickly she’d come to terms with the incident. She’d been surprised herself. Sure, she’d woken up confused and freaked out and barely able to speak, but a weird calm had settled over her not long after. A calm that was starting to splinter like dry wood with each passing day.
She craved to do magick again. To feel that rush of power and energy surge through her. The fact that she wanted it so badly scared the shit out of her.
They all said they wanted to help her figure out what her magicks were. That maybe once they did they could find out where she might be safest. That maybe she even had family somewhere.
Gwen had spent years settling into the idea that she would never know anything about where she came from, but now that there was hope, she could barely contain her anxiety. The idea that there might be somewhere she belonged was overwhelming. Gwen was so desperate to know, she’d even reluctantly let Levian do little experiments on her to try and figure out the source of her powers. They’d gotten nowhere. They couldn’t tell her anything.
Days had smeared past in blurs, each one pushing her further and further to the brink. Levian kept telling her she needed to do more research. Barith kept telling her to trust Levian. Niah agreed with Barith. Sirus had said nothing.
Gwen didn’t feel like he was avoiding her, per se. More like he just didn’t care enough to bother talking to her. Her stomach clenched, and she looked away from the mirror. She couldn’t really remember anything that had happened after Levian had tried that revealing spell on her. The only thing she vaguely recalled was looking up into Sirus’s face and feeling safe. It was stupid. She was being stupid. Which made her all the more anxious about this little trip.
She turned to Barith. “You really think these mirrors are cursed?” she asked nervously.
Barith shrugged one of his giant shoulders, straining his tight shirt. “I don’t trust those relics. The magick is too old. One of my great-uncles had one. He went in and never came out.”
“Don’t listen to him, darling,” Levian snapped, flashing Barith a look of pure venom. “I’ve used it more times than I can count, and I’ve always come out the other side. They’re perfectly safe. A far more effective way to travel than most magicks.”
Barith snorted.
Levian had told Gwen that she could probably get to the root of her magick eventually, but if they wanted answers quickly there were ways to expedite the process. Sirus had suggested Abigail, and the mage had leapt at the idea. That was the day before. Now here she stood, about to be dragged through a magick mirror to go visit a witch in the French countryside—because apparently her life had officially turned into a fantasy novel.
“We’re late,” Sirus noted, coming up next to her. A warm rush fluttered over her skin, and Gwen suddenly became very interested in the cover of a book sitting on a nearby table.
“Abigail won’t mind,” Levian replied. “Besides, she’s never on time for anything.”
“You’re sure she can help?” Gwen asked for what felt like the hundredth time.
